“Now that you have arrived Fortune I will start the meeting. As you’ve been told we are well advanced in our preparation. I was told you’re a quick study and have been briefed on our progress. Since you were vouched for by a very trusted source I do not feel you will slow us down. In fact, I am hoping you may aid in our success.”
His greeter motioned him to come forward. “Fortune, meet your fellow travelers. Know each one as your brother and sister from this moment forward. Our connection matches the supremacy of our mission. We trust in one another at all times, in every situation. Our silence beyond these meetings bonds our relationship.
“Take Chauncey here. He is from a plantation some five miles east, yet has never missed a meeting. His devotion to the cause is all that matters. The others you will meet shortly. I must make haste to begin.”
In this dark chapel of pitched, enveloping swamp every participant rested all attention upon Fletcher. Looking around, Fortune was both surprised and heartened to see the familiar face of Nathaniel in their assemblage. Fortune’s quick smile was returned in kind. The huddled gathering of eight, including him, reflected silver slivers of midnight moon on expressive faces.
A hard aroma of decomposing vegetation amidst dank pools of water matched each attendee’s stale existence under endless servitude. The irony of reaching for life while huddled within a decaying grove was not lost on Fortune. Stinging pulses of scarred brown skin seared hopes for liberty evermore in his determined brain. They may burn him at the stake because of this enterprise, but it was nothing more than a brutal exchange for a slow death in relentless bondage.
“Welcome again my friends. As I ask each of you before every meeting, I begin with one question. Are you ready for this journey?” Fletcher’s sweeping gaze judged the mettle of all assembled. “Once we leave the shelter of Bitter Man, you will never set foot on your old plantations again. Not on this side of the living.”
Each of Fletcher’s searching glances was met with equal determination by every potential escapee. There would be no sudden wavering from this lot.
“I see we all still desire liberty! Now you know this ain’t gonna all be about running. We may come across some trouble out there. And you all know I don’t turn back.”
Looks of fearful acknowledgement were exchanged amongst the assembled. Fletcher had seen it all before, and continued undeterred with his instructions.
“We’re gonna continue with practicing our moves to protect ourselves in case we find trouble, ’cause even if we see some bounty hunters, I will not stop. We’ve got to drill these routines into our heads until it sits like white on rice. You all hear me straight?”
Solemnly they nodded in yielding agreement. Fletcher acknowledged their approval and went on.
“Then let’s get to it! I will not leave on any escape unless you all know what to do all the time! I hope you’re a quick learner Fortune, because we’ve been practicing all sorts of things to expect out there.”
Immediately he took one of the assembled and began to act out a number of situations they could encounter on the run. Tonight’s role playing included how to assemble when bounty hunters approached, running undercover in daytime, and where to find edible vegetation. They practiced at length until Fletcher was confident enough in their abilities.
“Looks like we’re done for the night,” he finally declared to the exhausted grouping. “We’re gonna meet in another two days at the same time back here. So go get some rest before master taxes our asses again! And remember to be as careful going back as when you came here.”
One by one they slipped into the dense growth surrounding Bitter Man. And when the sun rested wearily on soft horizon two more times, they were all back at Bitter Man to hear Fletcher’s next instructions.
“Need I go over anything from our last meeting? Please speak now if so. We cannot afford any mistakes once we leave.” Fletcher paused to accept any inquiries. Immediately the lean young male servant named Chauncey began to speak.
“I died the day I was born into slavery. No chance to live like a real man. I think I speak for everyone that we are not really giving up anything. But we get everything if we make it! Just show us how, Fletcher. We’ll put our lives in your hands over master’s hands any day, any way!”
“Thank you Chauncey. Remember, they may call themselves masters, though you are their equal! And know well there are no guarantees here. I will sacrifice one or two people for the group if that is the only way to make our destination. I will use a gun against a bounty hunter if it gives you all a chance to escape. I will do whatever it takes. But while no one is above another, we are all equal to the task of freedom.” An impassioned Fletcher continued.
“We will run as fast as the wind will carry us and never look back. We must survive to tell people of the world our stories, our horrors and grave injustices suffered. Damn the bloody lies which nurture those weeping willows of southern charms! When enough people outside of slavery are moved to help their Colored brethren, we will rise up united together!
“I do not accept that any man has to live in chains of squalor to profit another’s pockets! Each time the bounty on my head goes higher; I know that more of you have escaped to better lives. Our forefathers were fleet of foot and strong of will. They built empires and fortresses, taught astronomy and charted the stars.
“In a few days we will rely on those very instincts to guide our journey to a land called Nova Scotia. I promise to each of you to make your dream of hope a reality!”
Feeling compelled by Fletcher’s moving words, Fortune sprang forward to speak. “I know only one of you gathered here tonight. My story is a difficult one. Today they call me Fortune, but back in the Motherland it was Kigwa. I do not want to tell a long tale, so let me just say this.
“I descend from a long line of chiefs who lived on the west coast of Africa, across the Great Ocean that brought us here. Through the deceit of one of my trusted aides, I was captured and sold into bondage. Regardless, I always knew that this was not the life destined for me, or any man or woman.
“Even in my dreams, I see our tribal elder, my grandfather Chief Salwex, commanding me home. My tribe had a culture which placed much on the value of dreams. So I am here to follow my true fate. If I can help others get their freedom, so much the better.”
Firm hands gripped Fortune’s ample shoulders in a caring embrace. “Those are powerful words Kigwa,” responded a clearly moved Fletcher. Then he turned towards the others. “I hope the passion for liberty is as great in the rest of your hearts. By the way, I do things a little different from other freedom conductors; my way north is not only by land.
“Back twenty years or so ago my father rescued the captain of a large merchant ship. Father was a servant on that vessel. During one of many voyages they ran into a violent storm along the trade route that ships molasses from the Caribbean for finished goods in Savannah to trade timber in Nova Scotia. The captain was barely on this side of the living when my father saved him and brought him back to life.
“As my father’s reward, not only was he given freedom papers and a small sum of gold, but the captain went back to his Quaker roots, becoming an abolitionist. The captain’s newfound belief made him a fierce opponent of slavery. Of course I cannot talk further about the plan and risk our escape. But if anyone’s fear of an ocean voyage is greater than their desire for freedom, this is one chance you may not like to take.”
Fletcher cast a searching gaze among the hopeful gathered in the shadows of Bitter Man. Then he broke the silence with pointed intent.
“Since my father was a freeman I was born without the bondage of slavery. I put myself in grave danger with no apparent benefit each time one of these missions is undertaken. As a result, some of you may wonder about my intentions. You are right to have such concerns. Though I always remember a saying my father told me when he was alive. “It is a foolish bird indeed tha
t flutters freely overhead while the hunter’s gun shot his flock to ground.”
“So what is the meaning of freedom if everyone that looks like you and shares your features is held in bondage? While it gave me the opportunity to get an education and speak in good tone, it never provided me true citizenship. I am here as much for myself as anyone else. Does that make sense to you all?”
When these words settled into their minds, Chauncey moved forward to speak. “I kind of get what you’re saying, but I am just glad to know that you are here to lead us. And I thank you for that. Anyone in these parts of Georgia that dreams of escaping has heard of Swamp Man’s Scout. Let glory be our guide on the journey north!”
“Thank you Chauncey,” a clearly flattered Fletcher replied. “Our success weighs greatly on my shoulders because you have given me care of your very lives. I have led six other journeys north with not one life lost.
“On the open seas there are fewer chances for bounty hunters to ride in with a posse and cut off escape. My plan means we only have to reach Savannah before setting sail down the river and on to high seas.” Pausing a moment for the gravity of his words to sink in, Fletcher continued.
“If no one else has questions, I think we are ready for the journey. And let me remind you, this is the point of no return. When we leave the green fields of White Rose, your lives will have changed forever. Either you will be swinging arms together in freedom, or swinging from an old oak tree. No one talks outside of here to anyone, even each other, because spies will betray us to Mister Whip. And you never know who is trying to win favor to get into the Big House.”
Nathaniel quietly stepped forward once Fletcher ended speaking. A pained look crossed the aged expanse of his worn face.
“I thought these tired eyes could not hope for more than stooping and fetching at White Rose. Oh to see some of the goodness beyond the devil’s plantation! But I know my legs would grow tired too soon, and my body would not be equal to the desire in my heart.
“Thank you Fletcher for the dream; I will never forget the chance you tried to give to me. I hope that good luck will be with you all.” Nathaniel waived goodbye to the group. Silence cloaked the remaining seven as the elderly man slowly melded into the distant grove beyond.
Calmly, Fletcher turned to the remaining group. “Are there any others who wish to leave?” He stood firm while waiting for responses. Not one soul answered in the affirmative. Clearly their minds were made up long before tonight.
“The next meeting will be our departure. As always, we will find you beforehand and tell you when, where and what will be needed. Our success will depend on each of us keeping true to ourselves and the others here. We are done for tonight. Go back to your quarters and make no notice of your return.”
Swamp Man’s Scout watched five men and one woman slip through various seams in the murky foliage as they returned to their respective quarters. As was his nature, he knelt in the soft dank earth and offered his appreciation for the guidance his Maker provided.
Fortune had an uneventful return journey. His mind pulsed with the weight of events that had recently unfolded. Life for him would change, regardless of the outcome of this escape. All he could do was maintain his composure and be ready for word of the next meeting.
Yellow dawn draped over Fortune, heralding more dulling labor under unforgiving heat. Though endurance now fashioned opportunity as the day of reckoning crept closer. So in the eternity of intervening moments he continued to appear as a reliable cog in this grinding machinery.
“Take your best of me in these days,” he thought. “I have provided all the fleshy grist to run this hard mill. These days are met not as a compliant servant though a hostage in exile. But watch ahead as events serve verdict to liberate or negate me in future judgment!”
In such a charged atmosphere, Fortune had only his thoughts to keep him in steady company. Necessity dictated solitude. He could only seek comfort in the temple of his mind. All truly hung in the balance of the unseen.
Days passed with the same numbness which colored plantation life. Throughout, Fortune played a passive role from wakeup to sunset in exacting precision. Those first few days after Bitter Man teased his brain, making him wonder about all aspects of the escape. But as time progressed with no word, some doubts began to color his thoughts.
Nearly three weeks after Bitter Man, Fortune was tending to exhausting blacksmith duties on a hot Wednesday afternoon. Under the strain of Georgian mugginess, even his immense physical capacities were taxed. Taking a brief moment to regain his strength, Fortune suddenly bristled to attention.
“What was that sound?” he asked himself. Then he heard his name a second time.
“Fortune, can you hear me,” spoke the familiar voice he now realized as Fletcher’s. “The time has come for our meeting.” Even though Fortune knew the day could arrive, he was still taken with sudden surprise. Realizing the game for freedom was afoot, he uttered his reply.
“Yes I can hear you. I am alone.”
“Of course you are, otherwise I would not be here. Listen carefully and mark my words well. We will gather at the same spot in Bitter Man at midnight Friday morn. Bring only good soles for your feet and wear clothing to last. Carry nothing. You must not be weighted down and attract attention. Lastly, bid no farewells. You must vanish into thin air to give us a head start. Be extra careful when coming not to be watched. Do you understand Fortune?”
“Yes I do.”
“We will see you later Fortune. Goodbye.” With those parting words he was left alone once again. All appeared the same as before, yet everything had changed for the future. Freedom beckoned, and he heard its call.
The rest of his day came and went without much ado. As Thursday morning crested on the horizon’s sill, Fortune sprung from a light sleep. Passing through the hustling main yard of White Rose, he overheard an interesting conversation. In it, he gathered that Mr. Whip was returning to White Rose from his dealings away late Friday evening. His wife Darlene wanted to prepare a special dinner to mark the occasion. In an instant Fortune recognized the intuitive timing of their escape.
Try as he may throughout the day, Fortune felt a duality of emotions battling in the recesses of his mind. Moments of fiery resolve forged in the crucible of determination were cooled in dank waters of doubt. Later, hearing the solitary coo of a mourning dove, Fortune gazed upon the slip of receding sunlight about him. Time was nigh for a final return to quarters after another day of ill-gotten gain for the deathly clutches of White Rose.
Walking back to his shack, Fortune thought hard about the ways of this place. Their lucre came stained with the bloody deposit of countless whippings and mortal wounding. Currency notes were soiled in gallons of yellow sweat and creased in the agonizing tears of overt repression. And the whole immoral institution provided mortar for white pillars attached to portico and stone, forming the Big House at White Rose.
To Fortune’s eternal disgust, he knew intimately how it all depended on kidnapped people from Mother Africa. The Motherland’s offspring prayed to see a better tomorrow while given a bitter nothing in America. But he would try to return against great odds to her bounty once again. He would not long for this miserable scene of woe.
Back amongst the fragile cluster of wooden shacks, he was swept over by anguish none outside this environment could imagine. Fortune was not an unsympathetic observer of the quiet desperation of Colored workers in an endless night of servitude. At his truest, he desired to be the savior of many, yet circumstances conspired to make him the author of his destiny alone.
Later, wearing only sturdy soles and layered clothing, Fortune prepared to leave his bare quarters for the last time. A pocket knife, a few day old hard biscuits and a green handkerchief were the only necessities on his person.
Southern stars winked in conspiracy as he stole away into the covered fringes of nighttime. No tears were shed or
memories held dear upon leaving. These rickety wooden structures of untold deprivation held nothing sacred in his heart. He was only too obliging to depart the thorny mistress known as White Rose.
There would be no other presence save the nocturnal chatter of insects and animals as he glided towards Bitter Man. Fortune exercised extreme caution in heading to the swamp. His date with destiny would not be blown tonight. Soon the familiar build of Fletcher leapt into his sights, signaling he had arrived at the anointed place.
Fletcher greeted him with a warm handshake. “I am so happy to see you! We shall need people of strong character to help the group in more difficult times.” Within minutes five other companions arrived with their anticipations, fears and determined commitment. Upon greeting the last of them, Fletcher addressed everyone.
“You don’t know how proud this moment makes me! Each person here gave me the privilege to make their life a fruitful one. A chance to snatch a future from hell on earth! I thank you all for such faith in my ability. I will do everything within my power to meet your wishes.”
At once Chauncey stepped forward. “No Fletcher, you have that wrong! It is us that give all the praise we can to you for getting this together. You are already a free man. You don’t even have to be doing such.” Chauncey gave Fletcher a thankful embrace while the assembled nodded in deep appreciation. Soon Fletcher returned to addressing his charges.
“I have kept the details of our plan secret until now. Our first destination will be Savannah, where we will go to the port district. Once there, my Quaker friend will provide “legal” documents so we can appear under his control.
“Before we board his ship, take a very deep breath of the choking stench of slavery. For as you see the last bale of bursting cotton loaded for somewhere beyond, you too will never experience this ultimate injustice again!
“Then open waters and sturdy sails will carry us to a place called Nova Scotia. When we arrive among the manufactured goods, another set of documents will be given to us labeling all free. Even though slavery is already abolished there, a little extra protection from bounty hunters will still help.”
The Watchman's Grace Page 9